


The curves of your lips rewrite history

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: 5 Things, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Steve was distracted by Bucky's mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The curves of your lips rewrite history

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Angelgazing. She blames Sebastian Stan's mouth.

1932

"Look at me," Bucky says, stepping between Steve and the loudmouth who'd been running down the Dodgers, holding Steve back easily with one arm across his chest. Steve looks, because there's something irresistible about Bucky; he's always drawn Steve's eye like a magnet draws iron. "This ain't worth getting yourself beat all to hell over."

He says more, but Steve doesn't hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. The familiar cadence of Bucky's voice calms him; he focuses on the red bow of Bucky's mouth, the way it shapes words, the way he bites his lower lip when he's done, like there's more he wants to say but won't, because he knows Steve doesn't want to hear it.

Whatever he's saying, it works, because the bully walks away, but Steve's heart is still pounding, hard enough that he thinks Bucky must feel it, but Bucky shows no sign he knows.

*

1934

Steve takes another sip of wine and tries to keep the jealousy out of his voice when he says, "Tell me what it was like."

Bucky holds out a hand for the bottle, takes a long slug when Steve gives it to him, and says, "Jesus, Steve." He rolls his head around to look at Steve, his mouth dark and glistening with wine. Steve has the oddest urge to lean in and lick his lips, but he settles for taking the bottle back and then licking his own, the wine sharp and acrid. "She was curved in all the right places. So soft, but strong. She told me she wasn't gonna break and I believed her." His eyes go faraway and the smile on his lips makes Steve's chest hurt. "When she let me put it in, she was tight and hot and wet. God, Steve, so hot and wet. I didn't expect that." 

Steve swallows hard, wine burning a path through his tight chest, and he closes his eyes, tries to picture it--he's seen enough pictures of naked ladies to have an idea and he knows what goes where--but all he can see is Bucky, who shot up like a weed when he turned sixteen, his arms and back already strong from helping old man Donetti deliver furniture (he also makes wine in his cellar, which is where this bottle's come from, payment when money is tight), and they've never had any modesty between them, living the way they do.

Bucky's still talking, but Steve's lost the thread, too busy looking at his mouth to understand the words he's saying. He sketches it out in his head, thinks about the blue he'd use to draw Bucky's eyes, the red to match his lips, but pastels can't capture their bright shine or the heat Steve imagines he can taste.

Bucky grabs the bottle back and takes a long drink, his Adam's apple bobbing with it, and Steve commits the sweeping curve of his throat to memory so he can draw it later, though none of his drawings ever match Bucky's vibrance. He lets the sound of Bucky's voice wash over him and the alcohol in his veins makes him sleepy. They tip towards each other on the couch, warm, sweaty skin pressed close from shoulder to knee, until the wine is gone, too lazy and drunk to even stumble into bed. Steve falls asleep with his head in Bucky's lap. As he drifts off, he can feel Bucky's fingers warm against his forehead, jagged nails catching in Steve's hair, but maybe that's just the wine, after all.

*

1944

"You can't save everyone," Bucky says, bumping his shoulder against Steve's, the solid warmth of him a comfort even if his words are not. 

Steve knows, objectively, that it's true, but if that HYDRA base was anything like the one he rescued Bucky from, it means that there were men strapped down on gurneys somewhere deep in the bowels of the building, men who'd been experimented on and tortured, if what happened to Bucky is any guide, and he hadn't been able to save them, hadn't been able to do more than get them blown up with the rest of the factory. 

"Hey, hey, look at me." Bucky dips his head so he can catch Steve's eye, and Steve can't help but meet his knowing gaze. "We got the prisoners out," he says. "You don't know there was anyone else in there, so stop beating yourself up over vague possibilities."

"What they did to you--"

"I know, pal. I was there." This time it's Bucky who looks away, and Steve can see his hand clench into a fist before he loosens it. Aside from the bruises, burns, and dehydration, the doctors hadn't found anything wrong with Bucky, though Steve still isn't convinced they'd been as thorough as they could have been. And Bucky won't talk about it. But Steve needs to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone ever again as long as he can help it.

He absentmindedly takes a sip from the flask Bucky's handed him, marveling again at how two shots of liquor used to make his head spin and now he barely feels flushed. He misses it, sometimes, the way he'd get sloppy and Bucky'd get sweet, how after they finished drinking, the two of them would press close under the covers of Steve's bed, the air humid and their sweaty skin sticking together, every huff of breath loud and shared and making Steve shiver in its wake. He's still not sure if it was the illicit thrill of drinking or the heat of Bucky's body that made it so exciting, though when Bucky leans forward and kisses him, Steve's finally got an answer.

Bucky's mouth is hot and wet and his tongue is thick and tastes of whiskey as he pushes it into Steve's mouth. Steve gasps in shock and then moans low in encouragement, heat and desire sparking through his veins the way alcohol doesn't anymore. He curls his fingers in the soft cotton of Bucky's shirt, trying to pull him closer. Bucky hums into his mouth, his hand coming up to cup Steve's face, and then the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside Steve's quarters makes them spring apart, their heavy breathing loud in the ensuing silence. 

Bucky gives him a rueful smile and a half-hearted salute before he heads back to the enlisted men's barracks. Steve takes himself in hand afterwards, finishes the job Bucky inadvertently started, and falls into a dreamless sleep, his guilt a million miles away, at least for the moment.

*

2012

Steve watches as Bucky goes flying out the side of the train, only the thin rail between him and a nasty fall to his death. He follows him, because he always follows him, and when Bucky falls, Steve lets go and falls after him, yelling his name. The sound of Bucky's voice cursing his stupidity rises up to meet him as surely as the ground.

Maybe this time he can save him. Maybe this time--

"Steve, Steve, come on, wake up."

Steve jolts awake, clammy with sweat, gasping and wheezing the way he used to during asthma attacks, the panic of not being able to breathe making everything worse. Bucky's kneeling over him, his face in shadow, but his voice and hands are gentle.

"Wake up, Steve. It's okay."

Steve sucks in a breath, deep into lungs that work just the way they're supposed to, and forces himself to calm down. "Bucky?"

"I'm right here." Bucky hands tighten on his shoulders, the metal hand gripping hard enough to bruise if Steve still bruised easily. "It's okay, Steve. It was just a nightmare."

"A nightmare. Yeah." One that's all too familiar. He has it less often now that Bucky is back and here with him, but he thinks he dreamt it over and over while it was in the ice, and even Bucky's warm presence next to him can't banish it completely. At least his heart has stopped racing and he's breathing normally again.

"Uh huh. I'm kind of an expert." Steve winces, because he's lain awake listening to Bucky toss and turn in the other room, wondering what he should do, afraid doing the wrong thing will just make things worse. Bucky doesn't seem to be aware of Steve's inner turmoil; he pulls at the blankets and says, "Scoot over."

"What?"

"You keep calling my name like that, I'm taking it as an invitation." Bucky slides into the bed beside him, and Steve's breath catches in his throat again, because he remembers-- _he_ remembers, but maybe Bucky was drunk and it didn't mean anything. Or maybe it's one of the memories he's lost in all the brainwashing, or--

And then Bucky's kissing him again, warm and sleep-stale and just as thrilling as it was sixty-eight years ago. He vaguely wonders if that's some kind of record amount of time between first and second kisses, but then Bucky is nipping at his lower lip and he can't think anymore, can only lose himself in sensation.

Because Bucky is here, he's alive, and his tongue is in Steve's mouth and his hands are searching out all the places Steve used to be (still is) ticklish, and Steve's life is strange enough that being tickled by a guy with a metal hand isn't even the weirdest thing that's happened to him today. And even that pales in comparison when Bucky pushes his leg in between Steve's and presses _up_ with a well-muscled thigh. Steve gasps into his mouth and he can feel the vibration of Bucky's pleased laughter all through his body, and it's the best feeling ever, because he hasn't heard Bucky laugh like that in a long time.

Steve shoves at Bucky's boxers and Bucky does the same to him, and once they're out of the way, he tangles their legs together so they can rub up against each other, hot and slick and perfect. Steve bites and licks at Bucky's mouth, enjoying the sounds he makes as they thrust together, pleasure coiling hot and thick down his spine, and then he's coming wet and warm all over Bucky's belly and thighs.

"Jesus, Steve." Bucky's voice is low and ragged, and with another thrust of his hips, he's finished, painting Steve's skin with his come, warm and sticky and _real_.

They make a cursory attempt at cleaning up, but Bucky seems more interested in the cuddling, which is not what Steve would have expected, but he's not complaining. 

They trade lazy kisses and touches and Steve murmurs, "We should do this every night," and then freezes, because what if he scares Bucky off? What if this is just a one-time thing because Bucky feels sorry for him?

"Mmm," Bucky says, his mouth hot and wet against Steve's jaw. "Works for me."

They lull each other to sleep with kisses, and in the morning, Steve doesn't remember his dreams.

*

Sometime in the near future

Steve glances up from the reports he's trying to write to see Bucky wrap his lips around the mouth of a beer bottle. He takes a long drink, lowers the bottle, and then licks his lips. He raises an eyebrow at Steve, and Steve shakes his head. 

"You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

Yes. "No."

"Huh." Bucky puts his hand to his chin as if he's thinking. He deposits the bottle on the coffee table, gets up, and walks over to where Steve is sitting. He puts his hands on Steve's knees to push them apart, and then kneels down between them. He looks up at Steve, smirk on his face. "How 'bout now?"

Steve hums noncommittally and pretends to go back to his report, but all he can see is the slick red bow of Bucky's grin, and all he can think about is how it will feel wrapped around his cock. He knows Bucky knows he's faking, but they both like letting the game play out, like Bucky hasn't been distracting Steve one way or another since they met.

Bucky rubs his hands up and down Steve's thighs, and then gently unzips his khakis so he can curl his right hand around Steve's erection. Steve sucks in a deep breath and holds himself very, very still. Bucky just grins wider and leans in to lick the head before he takes it into his mouth, red lips stretching wide as he slides them down the shaft. Steve jerks up into the wet heat of Bucky's mouth, game lost, except for how he's getting his dick sucked, so in the grand scheme of things, that probably makes him the winner, though he's sure Bucky would argue if Bucky could talk. He's contrary like that.

Steve tangles his fingers in Bucky's soft hair, scratches gently at his scalp in encouragement as Bucky goes down, mouth meeting the fist now wrapped around the base of Steve's cock. He bobs his head, licking and sucking and generally making Steve feel like his whole body is going to melt while his brain shorts out with pleasure. 

Bucky knows just how and when to use his teeth, a light touch along the underside on the upstroke that makes Steve crazy, and then he goes down as far as he can, sucking hard. Steve's hand tightens in his hair and his hips jerk up off the chair as he spills himself down Bucky's throat. Bucky takes it all and then pulls off with a wicked smile. He swallows and licks his lips, and then Steve hauls him up into his lap for a hard kiss, licking the taste of himself off Bucky's tongue.

He gets Bucky's jeans unzipped so he can jerk him off while they kiss, hard and fast the way he likes it, the chair creaking with the weight and movement.

When Bucky comes, breathless and panting into Steve's mouth, he pulls back far enough just to say, "How 'bout now?"

Steve laughs and shoves his shoulder gently. "I really do need to finish these reports."

"Just tell Fury you got distracted."

Steve does, and he only blushes a little when Fury eyes him skeptically and says, "I bet you did."

end


End file.
